Watson's Ghost
by misscam
Summary: Wherein the Doctor and Rose face a murder charge, Rose walks with ghosts, the Doctor tries for life and an alliance changes its nature. [TenRose]
1. Part One

Watson's Ghost  
by Camilla Sandman

Disclaimer: Just written for my own and other's amusement, BBC. Please not be suing me.

Author's Note: Written for an anon request in my LJ. Thanks to Saz for beta-ing and being awesome. Love ya, darling.

II

**Prologue: Wherein the premise is laid out**

A murder, it is known, requires at least two parties. There's the victim, sometimes aware and sometimes not, but no one lives to compare and decide which is best. There's the killer, sometimes with regret and sometimes not, but the result always remains the same. Life is taken. Sometimes with blood, sometimes not, but always, always with force.

One ancient act. A million little consequences. Two parties.

Except, sometimes there's a third.

The innocent passing by.

II

**Part One: Wherein our hero and heroine are unjustly accused of murder on a strange planet, a question by the dying is answered, the Doctor is worried, the problem of Watson is raised and a request for bravery brings fear**

Spin, spin, twirl and spin goes the TARDIS, dancing through time in steps that sometimes seem random even to its choreographer, and he's seen all the patterns across time. But even a Time Lord can enjoy just not knowing. Knowledge weighs a feather and a mountain, and he likes to skip carefree.

Rose doesn't know this. Or perhaps she does, because a long time ago she saw everything and it nearly killed her. Now she lives, and she's bursting with excitement as the TARDIS lands in a burst of energy.

There's always the moment of stillness that's the biggest thrill of all, Rose thinks. When where they've landed can still be everywhere and everytime.

"So where's this?" she asks, because he loves to tell her and she loves to listen, and it's become a ritual as much as getting into trouble is. There's something reassuring about little constants in a Universe that he spins her wildly around in, and in a friendship where he might be someone else tomorrow.

He grins, as he does, pushing the TARDIS door open with the usual energy. She follows him out with as much energy as she can muster. "The planet of... Oh, Nattdvalve! Their sky is always dark, even when the sun is out. A right tourist attraction for star sighters, or would be if strangers weren't kept out."

"Sounds friendly," she observes, looking at the dark sky. Stars glitter faintly, but what she first thinks is the moon, she realises must be the sun. It looks cold, but the air is almost warm against her skin, so there must be some kind of heat coming across space. "So what do they do for a tan, then?"

The Doctor doesn't answer, and she turns to see him staring at a staring alien. It takes a moment for her to realise why, and then she lets out a strangled cry. There's blood, so much blood across the ground, and the second alien is shuddering in pain and dying, and his killer is still gripping the knife.

A lot of things happen at once. The attacker flees, the Doctor springs into action and follows, and she stumbles by what feels like auto-pilot until bloodied fingers are gripping her arm and she's looking into a stranger's face.

"I'm so sorry," she whispers, because she knows if there was anything that could be done, the Doctor would be there doing it.

"What's your name?" he gasps, his eyes as black as the sky, only starless. 

"Rose."

"Rose," he repeats. "Are... Are you brave, stranger Rose?"

She thinks of Daleks and Cybermen and Slitheen and other aliens in the dark, and all the times she's never left the Doctor. "Sometimes."

"Be brave, stranger Rose. Comfort my ghost," he says, and dies. She can feel it, the heat fleeing from his body as if afraid now and the wind taking all the breath from his body too. She still shakes his body a little, for otherwise it would feel like she's just accepting it. But death is death, and she stops when she feels the Doctor's hand on her shoulder.

"He got away," the Doctor says, sounding troubled.

"Can't we chase him with the TARDIS or something?"

"Not going to be as easy as that."

"Why not?" she asks angrily, turning to look at him and seeing the dozen aliens behind him, all looking angry.

"They think we did it."

II

Rose has learned that strangers will often come to assume the worst about her and the Doctor, but she hasn't had this allegation of worst thrown at her before. Murder. Murder, the aliens toss at her and she tries to protest it, just as the Doctor protested when they more or less tore her out of his arms and separated them by force. She feels alone and cold and not quite like Rose, stripped of her own clothes and put into something drab. Her head is pounding too, trying to answer questions she can't or won't by aliens with dark eyes she can read nothing from. No sympathy, no hint they believe her. No nose in their faces either, and that's really starting to freak her out. 

No, she can't show them how she got here.

No, she can't tell them why she came here.

No, she can't tell them who the Doctor is.

No, she can't tell them why she killed, because she didn't, didn't, didn't.

They don't seem too impressed at her repetitions, but they must be beginning to find them as tedious as she is, because they stop asking and take her to a cold room she knows must be a cell. Stone and steel and a lone light on one wall, just making the room feel filled with shadows. She makes the best of it still, sitting down in the corner that feels the least drafty and hugging her knees to her. 

She wonders what they're doing to the Doctor. The thought that she might not see him again does present itself, as it inevitably does almost every time they get into trouble. She's almost so used to that fear it feels a bit dull.

She wonders what they're going to do her later, and what it would be like to spend the rest of your life in alien prison and never see a bright sky.

She wonders about death too, and tries not to.

Somewhere along it all, she thinks she drifts off, because the next thing she sees is the Doctor's face in front of her, crouched before her and a hand on her knee.

"Hello," he says, and she grins stupidly and flings herself at him, because here and now he's alive and there and somehow feels enough. He steadies her against him, burrowing his head into her shoulder and his hand on her back is a little painful in its force. She doesn't tell him. It doesn't matter, not really.

"Did they hurt you?" he asks, voice so calm she knows he's not.

"No. Just my fashion sense."

She can feel his laughter like a low rumble, and it's just a bit more desperate than really amused. He pulls back a little, and she notices he's been put in the same garb as her, more or less. Equals, then.

"They didn't seem to like us much," she says as cheerfully she can.

"They don't trust strangers. They've had reason to."

She finds herself nodding slowly, as if she understands. "What happens now?"

"They either execute us in the morning or pardon us with their sincerest apologies. Depends how much of a genius I manage to be."

She smiles a little dully. "Nothing at all to be worried about then?"

They fall into silence, still sitting in a half-embrace and she can almost hear his mind racing the speed of light. Considering, pondering, planning. Staying ahead of her by a million years, and she feels an irrational anger at it. Right now, she'd like him all here. But he never is. Not fully.

"Will they really execute us?" she asks, her voice feeling thin in the dark.

"No. They are not beyond compassion. They'll probably just keep us here for life."

"Kindness itself," she mutters, before a thought occurs. "Hang on, for your life or mine?"

"What?" He sounds distracted.

"Your life or mine?" she repeats. "You live longer than some countries. I get a few decades."

"I'm not planning on us sticking around, Rose," he says irritably. "I don't think it really matters."

"Even your genius can fail," she protests, and he gives her a Look. "It's just you and me this time, Doctor. We've had others help us before and now it's just you and me. And I could grow old and you'll just..."

"Watch," he says, and it sounds like a death sentence.

"You'll just go," she goes on, ignoring the very strong vibes coming from him. He doesn't want to talk about this, but she desn't have to do everything he wants. She doesn't. "I could die in some cold alien prison in the ugliest prison attire ever and my mum will never know and I'm supposed to comfort some ghost too..."

"What?" the Doctor says sharply, grabbing her wrist a bit roughly. "Rose, what did you say?"

"The guy... alien... who was killed, he asked me my name..."

"You didn't tell him?" The Doctor almost sounds pleading, and she get a sense something is going unexpectedly wrong.

"I didn't think it was important..."

"Names have power," he says forcefully, still gripping her wrist. "He'll know who to wait for now."

"Wait for where? He's dead," she replies, and the Doctor just looks at her and she feels almost punched to the stomach. He's afraid, she realises. Genuinely afraid. "Doctor?"

He catches himself, and smiles much too sincerely. "Been a while since I've been involved in a murder. I didn't even bring the approriate hat wear."

She just stares at him, trying to adjust to the sudden change of mood. He seems determined to plunge ahead, and she's feeling a bit scraped all over the place.

"Hats are proven to focus the brain's murder-solving area," he continues, tapping a finger against his temple. "Why so many of the great weren't great until I took them shopping. Sherlock Holmes, he was just a newspaper clerk until I took him to _Hats Be Us_."

She gives him a dubious look.

"I even set him up with Watson. Now, there was a team."

"Holmes and Watson?"

"Yep!" he beams. "Much better together than apart. Watson needed Holmes, and Holmes needed Watson."

"Holmes needed _a_ Watson," she corrects. "There's only one Holmes. He solves the murder, Watson's just there to help him think, or something."

"Watson's an essential part of the team," he insists, sounding a bit hurt she's arguing with him. 

"He could be anybody, couldn't he? He's only mentioned because he's with Holmes. He's nobody special."

"Holmes chose him. That's special enough."

"You would say that."

"I would!" he protests. "I do. Watson is essential in the... Watson-department."

She shakes her head at him. "You're just full of... hat-fluff."

He looks deadly insulted for a moment, and then he grins, and then he laughs and she joins him, if a little hysterically.

"Rose," he says, and laces his fingers in hers. "We'll get out of this one. Just trust me."

"Okay," she agrees, and wonders if he trusts himself. She could ask him, and he would probably lie, so she doesn't. She just rests her head on his shoulder, and feels the warmth of his body next to her, his mind already somewhere else, she knows. He's worried about something, and she wonders about ghosts and bravery and her own name, which shouldn't really matter, not to anyone but the Doctor himself.

Such was her humble role in their alliance.

But it's her own name she hears when she closes her eyes, a whisper that thunders. The Doctor isn't the only one who can be afraid.

_Be brave, stranger Rose. Comfort my ghost._

She thinks she might be terrified after all.


	2. Part Two

Watson's Ghost  
by Camilla Sandman

Disclaimer: Just written for my own and other's amusement, BBC. Please not be suing me.

Author's Note: Written for an anon request in my LJ. Thanks to Saz for beta-ing and being awesome. Love ya, darling.

II

**A Remark on a Planet: Wherein a story of Nattdvalve's dead is told**

Life, it is known, ends in death. For every first breath there's a last breath too, almost always regretted. Only the very tired wish to die. The will to live is strong, the Universe knows. Sometimes too strong.

There is a story whispered among the stars of a planet where the dead's last breath can be preserved. Where it can linger, stuck in the moment the body died, waiting to exhale. Only the very desperate would cling to life so. The young. The afraid. The murdered.

They are the ghosts of Nattdvalve, and it is said you can walk with them. If you give them your breath, they might even tell their story. You can help them let go.

Only the brave dare.

Walk with ghosts, they say, and the ghosts also walk with you.

II

**Part Two: Wherein the morning brings a possibility, innocence may be proven, Rose makes a choice, the Doctor steals a breath and a message is given for a ghost**

Rose awakes to the dark and for a moment she doesn't think she's opened her eyes at all. Then her vision adjusts slightly, becoming dark grey and eventually vague shapes. She feels cold, and there's no comforting blanket to reach for. There's just her skin and cloth smelling badly, and neither feels particular pleasant. Why is she here, why is...

"Doctor!" she blurts out, her memories crashing into awareness in a jumbled mess. The planet, the dead alien, the accusation, her name, everything coming back without any softening blow first.

"I'm here," his voice says, and as she focuses, she makes out the shape of him, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, face blank. "It's morning."

"How do you know?"

"I always know," he says distantly, and he feels so far away he might as well be a star in the sky. "Dawn is just another clock measuring time. I _feel _it."

He's every bit the Time Lord now, power even in his voice, and she feels a little small at it. And then he looks properly at her, and it fades and it's just him. The Doctor, her friend, her... Her Holmes. She stands up a little shakingly, but her legs carry her well enough as she walks up to him. He opens his arms, and she rests her cheek against his chest, letting him hold her.

"Listen, Rose. They'll be coming soon, offering us the only sure way on Nattdvalve to prove your innocence. Don't say anything. Let me speak."

Her mouth feels dry, as she tilts her head up to look at him. "What are you going to say?"

He smiles, but with no warmth at all. "I'm talking a walk."

II

They do come with morning. Stern, pale faces, clad in what Rose guesses if formal wear. There is a sense of ritual to it, though she can't quite pinpoint why. Maybe it's the actions seeming so automatic. Maybe it's the way the Doctor seems to know what's coming. He's got a hand on her shoulder, and it feels almost like a steel grip, unwilling to let her go. But no one makes any move to seperete them, simply leads them through hallways and halls. Eventually, they're escorted into what almost looks an elevator of dark metal, but the moment the door is closed, it moves much faster than any elevator she knows. The Doctor seems to expect it again, already steadying her, and she leans against him a little gratefully.

"Rose," he whispers against her ear, "take a deep breath."

"Why?" she whispers back, just as the elevator-thingy comes to a stop, and the doors open. She barely has time to draw breath before a wind knocks into her, feeling almost to rob her body of all breath. "What...?"

"This planet has a particular wind system," the Doctor says a little breathlessly too. "This is where winds go to die. And they're not alone."

"They're not alone," one alien agrees, the one she guesses is a senior guard just from how his dark clothes gleam a little brighter. "You stand with the blood of Berho's life on your hands and claim innocence. Is this your claim?"

"Yes," the Doctor says, lips tight.

"Only one voice can confirm your claim," the alien goes on, sounding almost as if he's delivering a sermon. "Only the murdered can speak the name of his murderer with truth. If you claim your innocence, you must find his ghost and bring it back to testify for you. Will you?"

"I will," the Doctor says, and Rose feels the taste of doom as metallic in her mouth and she knows what he's decided, what he's going to do instead of her. It wasn't his name that was spoken with a dying breath, and he knows it.

It's meant to be her.

"No!" she blurts out. "Doctor, no!"

"Shut up, Rose," he says harshly, a command. But though he is a Time Lord, she is not time and even Watson had his own will and his own choices.

She makes hers.

"The man who died, he asked my name," she rushes out. "He said I was to comfort his ghost. Rose, he said. That's me. Rose."

The aliens exchange glances, clearly not quite expecting this. The Doctor is, though, she can feel it in the way he breathes, almost a sigh, almost no sound at all. 

"You never do what I tell you, do you, Rose Tyler?" he says, letting go of her shoulder finally. She dares look up at him and feels almost gutted by the expression on his face.

"Stranger Rose, will you walk with the ghosts until the murdered is satisfied?" she hears a distant voice rumble, but her eyes are on the Doctor, and he's shaking his head at her, eyes a little wild.

"I will," she says, and her voice sounds foreign.

"Oh, Rose..." the Doctor whispers, and his voice is painful to listen to.

"I'm sorry..." she offers, the only apology she knows.

He nods a bit, and she has no idea what to say to comfort him. She refuses to feel guilty, just as he would refuse to. She knows him well enough for that.

She doesn't know him at all when he puts his hands on her cheek and with a jolt she realises he's going to kiss her. Softly, ever so softly, parting her lips and taking her breath away, his fingers burrowing into her arms painfully. She lets him, feeling almost apart from herself.

"I have your breath, Rose," he says oddly, rubbing his nose slightly against hers. "Remember! _Remember_!"

She feels hands on her, tearing her away, but she keeps looking at the Doctor, looking at him fighting the aliens holding him back, fighting and failing, calling after her even as she's pulled away.

"Rose! Rose! Remember! I hold your breath! Remember that! Promise me! Rose! Rose!"

"Doctor..."

"Rose!"

And then there's just the wind, whispering as strokes past her, blowing the way she's being led. She doesn't fight her escorts, letting them push her ever forward, until whatever is waiting. It can't be worse than a fleet of Daleks, she reasons, but the Daleks were predictable. This, this is constant night and not knowing where the next step leads.

She looks up when she sees a great gate, more guards waiting, all looking serious. The winds are picking up, and sometimes she thinks she can almost hear a voice in them.

"Do you walk willingly?" she is asked, and she tries to focus on the face. "Do you wish to prove the innocence of your friend and yourself?"

"Yes." She licks her lips, wishing her voice would sound more confident so maybe she could feel it too. "Yes, I do."

"Then you may walk and if the ghost speaks for you, you may walk freely."

She nods, watching the gates open to just more darkness beyond. Something is pressed into her hand, and she realises belatedly it is a sort of lamp, and one of the guards is looking at her. He looks young, smaller than the other aliens and even paler.

"Are you afraid, stranger Rose?" he asks, and it might be sympathy, resting a hand on her arm.

"Yes."

The alien nods, and looks at her, and she thinks maybe it's fear in his eyes too. "If you meet Milekka, tell her not to wait."

"What?" she mutters dumbly, following him as he leads her past the doors, into the darkness.

"Milekka. Tell her. Tell her... Wenhor isn't coming. Tell her to breathe."

She can just nod as he lets go of her arm, and then the doors close, and she's alone. She just stands still for a moment, trying not to shiver, trying not to feel anything. The light flickers as she steadies the lamp in her hand, but it doesn't die and she takes comfort in that.

Right then.

Taking a deep breath, she starts to walk and the whispers, the whispers follow her. 

The dead are talking and she can almost hear them.


	3. Part Three

Watson's Ghost  
by Camilla Sandman

Disclaimer: Just written for my own and other's amusement, BBC. Please not be suing me.

Author's Note: Written for an anon request in my LJ. Thanks to Saz for beta-ing and being awesome. Love ya, darling.

II

**A Related Tale: Wherein Wenhor made a promise to Milekka.**

Young love, it is known, has no fear. The young laugh at death, but it doesn't haunt their every breath, and it's easy to have courage then. Easy to be a little foolish. Easy to think the future very distant. Easy to make a little promise.

"Would you?" Milekka asks, dancing around him, her face as ice and even more beautiful. He laughs, because she is joy. "Would you, beloved Wenhor?"

"You know I would, beloved Milekka."

"Say it!"

He holds out a hand, and she captures it, and he's dancing with her, smiling at her, and he loves, loves her more than he loves life, he thinks, he's sure of.

"I would," he says. "If you died, I would walk with ghosts and bring you back with my breath."

"I would too!" she breathes, and it sounds like a promise.

But it is she who dies, and his promise that ends up haunting unfulfilled. Milekka waits. Wenhor doesn't dare come. He takes a job as a guard at the gate, thinking it a way to build his courage, but he knows, he knows he'll never be brave enough.

Easy to make a little promise until you know the weight of it.

Milekka waits. Wenhor isn't coming.

II

**Part Three: Wherein the fate of many is touched upon, deaths are relived, a name is of importance, a killer is remembered, the Doctor is angry and Rose gets her ghost  
**  
Rose thinks herself brave, but she's beginning to think a coward's life might be better. Her light feels pale, and everything else is so dark. Sometimes she thinks she sees something moving, but whenever she lifts her light for a closer look, nothing's there. Just shadows and whispers and her own shadow.

"Hello?" she tries.

_Hello hello hello hello._

"I'm looking for someone..." she goes on, and almost screams as she steps into a cold wind. But it's not a wind, it's a presence, it's something, almost alive, almost dead.

She breathes...

_and she's Revlan, young pretty Revlan with so much to live for, young pretty Revlan being strangled to death by her own father, trying to scream, but finding no breath, dying but finding no peace, young pretty Revlan not wanting to let go, young pretty Revlan so desperate, so desperate and her father killing her, father, father, father..._

"Father!" Rose screams, and gasps, her head clearing again and her own. The wind lets go, moving on, still screaming for father, and Rose realises with a pounding heart that was Revlan's ghost, waiting for someone that isn't her.

"Oh God," she breathes, clutching her own neck, assuring herself there are no other hands there, no one trying to kill her. She's Rose, she's not Revlan. She's alive, she's not a ghost. She's alive. Letting out a long, shuddering breath, she steadies herself and walks on.

She can do this. She can, for herself and the Doctor. He'll be waiting for her, and he's hardly a patient waiter, so she better hurry up and just get this done. Right. She can do this.

"I can do this," she says, and the wind comes, and she has just enough time to know what's coming this time, breathing in...

_and she's Kunnskir, old and alone in his bed, waiting for his family, waiting for the traditional goodbye, waiting to pass on the last words of his generation, giving up the last responsibility, but no one comes, no one is listening and he can't die like this can't die alone can't die in silence silence silence silence..._

She stumbles and Kunnskir is gone, but there's already someone else there and she gasps...

_and she's Hurran, pleading for his life, but no mercy in the faces looking down at him, no mercy in the kicks and punches that never end, no mercy for Hurran, killer of their daughter, no mercy please please have mercy, he doesn't want to die oh please please please..._

"Please," she whispers, but they're all coming now...

_and she's Milhor, not wanting to live, not wanting to endure the shame any longer, just wanting to die die die, and throwing himself off his beloved childhood house, falling falling falling and only then realising he doesn't want to die after all, that he's so scared and the ground is coming so fast and he's falling falling falling..._

and she's Revgot screaming in pain and the war is all around and he wasn't meant to die like this, wasn't meant to stain the uniform Meilan found so beautiful, wasn't mean to return to her a corpse, wasn't meant to die wasn't wasn't wasn't...

"I can't help you," she whispers, and she hurts, they all hurt, and they're all coming, looking for something, and she can't take them all, can't take all their pain...

_and she's Dogna, and her children are burning and everything's burning and she's stumbling through her house trying to find them, and she loves them, loves them and she has to get to them and she's running running running..._

She runs, and there's more of them, a hundred, a thousand, a million...

_and she's Giergny, last of his kind, survivor and the last knowing and he has to remember, all the others are gone and there's just him remembering remembering remembering..._

Remembering... Remember, remember, remember what?

_and she's Genna, all future in her mind and not looking when the wagon comes down the street, not looking when it hits her, not looking when her legs are crushed, only screaming screaming and so much future in her mind and it can't end, screaming screaming screaming..._

"I'm Rose!" she screams, and her breath is her own, echoing back and forth. She's Rose. She remembers that.

_Rose Rose Rose Rose RoseRoseRose_

"I'm..."

_and she's everyone and Fregna and Gerhol and Revikki and Rose and Takhal and and and..._

_and she's Berho and the knife is slamming into him, so much force and Virgot is killing him and it hurts and he doesn't want to die, doesn't want to be killed and Virgot is running away and there's someone else there, a stranger, a stranger and he asks her name and Rose she says, Rose Rose Rose..._

"I'm here," the voice of Berho says, and she's speaking it. "Let's walk out, living Rose."

They walk.

II

She doesn't know how they know she's coming, but the gate is open as she approaches it, and the aliens all stand to attention, looking grieved and awed too, and maybe just a little scared. No one quite dares meet her eyes, not until she sees the Doctor, still being held back, but his gaze is not letting go of her, staring helplessly as she walks in the last few steps, and the gate is slammed behind her.

She's done it, but she can't even feel any sort of relief.

"Rose?" he calls, and she nods.

"Do you bring the ghost, walker Rose?" the alien she knows is Kunnskir's son now asks, and she nods again, numbly.

_... stabbing stabbing oh god the stabbing and it hurts and Virgot is killing him killing him..._

"Virgot killed me," Berho says with her breath, and his voice is steady. "Friend Rose offered me her name. She did not take my life."

"As the dead have spoken, so is the truth," the alien intones, all ritual again. "We're... We're sorry, walker Rose. We had to know."

"You're sorry?" the Doctor says, voice low. "You're _sorry_!"

The guards let go of him finally, and he's running, not even slowing down before he slams into her, picking her up and clutching her to him. He's warm, so warm, and she buries her head against his neck, clinging to him.

"They all died," she whispers. "Hurran and Genna and Revgot and Berho. They died. They're dead and they're still there."

"Why'd you let her do it!" he screams at the aliens, and they say nothing. "Why'd you have to let her do it!"

"I'm sorry," she whispers, and she's not quite sure who she's speaking for. "I'm so, so sorry."

"You're so cold," he whispers back. "Oh, Rose, why'd you have to do that? You have nothing to prove to me."

Maybe she had something to prove to herself, she considers. But she says nothing, and Berho is silent too, just a ghost in her mind now. Just a ghost, but her ghost now. 

The Doctor lifts her up, and the aliens part way before him, looking a little shamed and a little afraid too. She knows the Doctor is not done with them, but right now his mind is all on her. She doesn't even have the strength to feel glad for it.

Turning her head slightly, she sees the young guard, the one she's almost certain is Wenhor, looking at her with a plea in his eyes. She knows what he's hoping for, and she shakes her head. She can almost see him age before her eyes, and she knows, oh she knows the dead's grip on the living is ever strong.

And in her mind, Berho is humming a lullaby Jackie used to sing to her.


	4. Part Four

Watson's Ghost  
by Camilla Sandman

Disclaimer: Just written for my own and other's amusement, BBC. Please not be suing me.

Author's Note: Written for an anon request in my LJ. Thanks to Saz for beta-ing and being awesome. Love ya, darling.

II

**A Dream: Wherein Berho explores his new home**

A dream, it is known, can tell you much of the dreamer. Perhaps that is why they are guarded so, freed only at night, and then still leashed to the mind. Private, personal, yours.

At least until your mind is not alone.

Rose dreams, and Berho dreams with her, dancing with the thoughts and fantasies in her mind. She's seen so much, and he sees it too, bright skies and distant stars and people dying and people living, and ever in the centre, the Doctor. The Doctor smiles at her, the Doctor changes her and everyone, the Doctor holds her hand and the Doctor holds her breath and the Doctor dances with her through time, making up the steps as they go and Rose loves it and loves the Doctor too, loves, loves, loves.

Rose loves the Doctor. Now Berho does too.

II

**Part Four: Wherein hats are discussed, Rose has company, a history is told and much is explained, kissing brings more trouble and feelings are mirrored  
**  
Rose awakes to a pounding headache, and for a moment, she keeps her eyes closed, trying to sort out her own mind. She can remember so much that isn't hers, so much she thinks isn't hers, and so much that must be. Rose Tyler. Yes. She is at least Rose.

Opening her eyes, the first thing she sees is the Doctor, sitting on the edge of her bed, legs tucked under him. He's back in his usual clothes, and it feels like a comfort. A sign of normalcy, almost. He smiles at her, and she wonders how long he's been there. She can vaguely remembering having a warm drink pressed on her, and the softness of a bed after, and sleep, and dreams.

"Hey," she says cheerfully, wincing a little at the sweetness of her own voice. Sitting up, she takes in her surroundings quickly. "This is posh."

"We're honoured guests now," he replies, watching her intently, and she wonders what he's looking for. "Cleared of all charges, their sincerest apologies. Stay as long as we like, all expenses covered, no worries."

"So I solved it?"

"You did," he says, and she thinks maybe he sounds a little bit proud after all. "Quite the Miss Marple."

"Did Miss Marple wear hats too?" she asks, smiling at him. He feels a strange desire to just grin at him, and have him grin back.

"Oh yeah," he says fiercly. "She was a great hat champion. I'll find you one of hers."

"I'd like that."

"Me too," he declares, swinging off the bed with force, changing direction again. "Does your head hurt?"

"Um..."

He doesn't wait for her answer, already walking over and bringing his fingers to her temples, rubbing lightly. It tingles oddly, and he sighs, dropping his fingers to rest in her lap.

"You have company," he says simply.

"I know," she mutters, staring at his fingers and bringing her own to meet them. "He's in my head. He keeps humming lullabies I know."

"He's trying to comfort you," the Doctor says softly. "He doesn't want you to fear him. They're not a malicious people. In their own ways, they're quite kind."

"They just... Invade minds for shits and giggles?"

He sighs, and shifts onto the bed next to her, as if it's the most natural thing in the world. "It's not that simple, Rose..."

And he explains, and she listens, and Berho nods along, and she starts to understand, starts to know.

_A long time ago, the people of Nattdvalve just died, and the living mourned them, and started to think it a good thing if the dead could linger. Some much left unsaid by unexpected death, so many goodbyes not said. Maybe it would be a good thing to linger a few breaths still. Maybe they needn't let go. And so, the dead started not to. Their last breath, never exhaled, was carried by the wind to where winds died. There, the dead waited. And the brave of the living would go and find their loved ones, and allow them to share breath. The dead needn't die, if you loved them enough. Sometimes, those who killed would be judged to live for their victims, and that was justice._

But there were never enough willing, and always more dead, and those who walked with ghosts and came back were never the same and slowly, slowly, the people of Nattdvalve started to grow afraid...

"And they're afraid," the Doctor says, and she shivers. "The living, the dead. The ghosts wait for people who will never dare, because very few do."

"I did," she says, and he looks at her. "I didn't know what it would mean. You did."

"I know everything," he replies, but without his usual energy.

He would've gone to find her, she knows, and Berho nods at that, because that's the Doctor they both know.

"So what happens now?"

"First, we find Virgot. While you slept, the Council of Justice judged that he is to carry Berho's ghost. They respectfully request that you carry his ghost meanwhile," the Doctor mutters, and it's not quite a sneer, but close. "As if it's just handing over a message... They pretend to be stupid, but I am not."

She feels the shape of something he's not saying, and it worries her. Is she going to have to spend the rest of her life with a ghost in her head?

Would that really be so bad?

The Doctor notices her looking at him, and pats her arm a little and she almost wants to punch him. "Don't worry about it, Rose. I used to out-think even Poirot; this should be easy in comparison."

"You did not out-think Poirot," she replies, because otherwise she might say something very stupid about how she does worry, and it's easy for him to say she shouldn't when he's not the one having company in his mind.

"Did too!" he replies, and reaches under the bed to bring up a hat that looks so silly she guesses it has to have been Poirot's. He puts it on with a proud smile, and his glasses too, and she gapes a little at him.

"Arsenal for the brain," he declares. "I come well armed."

"Did you go back to the TARDIS just to get that silly hat?"

"You humans sleep a lot," he complains, and she just shakes her head at him until he laughs, and then she has to laugh a little too. He's just being so randomly Doctorish, and she can't predict him. Can't even know him, really.

He can still be hers, Berho feels, and love shouldn't just be wasted. Not when he knows what it's like to die without love, and he shows her...

_... alone oh alone not loved and Virgot hates him and he dies unloved alone oh alone..._

"Rose?" the Doctor asks, and she lets go of the memory and focuses on him again.

He's still wearing the silly Poirot hat and the glasses and the goofy, goofy smile and watching her with expectations she almost knows she can never quite live up to, but will keep trying until he tires of it, and she should just walk away. Go home before the addiction to star dancing becomes unbreakable, embrace normality while she still remembers it. But she doesn't.

She just kisses him, forcing him to part his lips before the force of hers, her mind distantly entertaining the idea that a girlfriend is a stronger part than the sidekick. He lets her for a moment, but only a moment.

"Rose," he says urgently, grabbing her forearms and pushing her away. "You're not thinking clearly."

"You know the ghosts of Nattdvalve don't possess," she says, knowledge that isn't quite hers, but close enough. "They just linger, sharing breath."

"Nothing's that simple," he replies, shaking his head. "Rose, he's in your head. He breathes everything you breathe. He sees everything you see. He feels everything you feel."

"I feel," she mutters, straining to reach his lips again and succeeding for a few seconds before he twists away and stands up.

"You're not thinking straight," he says again, swallowing slightly. "Everything in your mind is being felt two-fold. It's like mirrors reflecting light. It grows more focused. Everything, do you understand? Fear, happiness, hurt, hatred... Love."

"Love," she repeats, looking at him, feeling her heart ache slightly. "Lust too?"

"Oh yeah," the Doctor replies, and he looks a little relieved that she's understanding him. "It's why the people here thought letting the killers carry the ghosts of the murdered was such a splendid idea. The killer understands the horror of his action, and his victim understands him, and with understanding often comes forgiveness. And then they'll live happily ever after as one."

She clears her throat, trying to clear images of just leaping on him then and there from her mind. "What happened when it didn't work like that?"

"Insanity," he says sharply. "Splendid ideas always have splendid breakdowns."

"So why do they still do it?"

"They don't know any other way," he says, and looks determined. "I'll have to find them one."

Rose nods, because he will. There'll be a way. He'll find it. Oh, he will.

She trusts him.

Twice over.


	5. Part Five

Watson's Ghost  
by Camilla Sandman

Disclaimer: Just written for my own and other's amusement, BBC. Please not be suing me.

Author's Note: Written for an anon request in my LJ. Thanks to Saz for beta-ing and being awesome. Love ya, darling.

II

**A Memory: Wherein Virgot becomes**

Hatred, it is known, comes from many places. It can be taught, from parent to child, from friend to friend, from enemy to enemy. It be nursed, from prejudice, from jealousy, from fear. It can be brought with from many places, from childhood, from youth, from half-forgotten memories. 

Virgot doesn't know where his comes from. He just knows that it is, and he feels it, feels it until his knife cuts into flesh and all he can see is blood. He didn't know there could be so much blood, and it's everywhere and on him too. He backs away, terrified, and feels strangers' eyes on him, already condemning.

He's killing someone. He's killing Berho. He's death, and blood reeks.

He runs, and leaves the smell of blood behind.

Afterwards, he can scarce remember it, and he thinks it wasn't so bad after all.

He could even do it again.

II

**Part Five: Wherein no harm is meant but may still be caused, sleuthing is conducted, a fellow is stupid, a message proves harder to hand over than assumed and the Doctor explains the price of a ghost**

Rose has dressed, and showered, and she feels almost herself in her own clothes again. The Doctor has gone to pick up the TARDIS, and she wonders how long he's thinking they're going to stay here. Poshed up, the planet doesn't seem half bad. Her room is brightly lit and brightly decorated, paintings on the walls of places she has never been too and still recognises. There's Nattsjell, the tallest mountain of them all, and Natthjim, where the forests sing in summer. 

Her mind is already singing the tune, and she smiles at it. 

"It's lovely," she says softly and Berho smiles too. But she's already hearing a tune far more beautiful - the ancient hum of the TARDIS fading in stronger and stronger, and she feels almost proud as it comes into view, as if she's showing it off. As if it's half hers.

The door cracks open, and the Doctor looks out, wearing a straw hat. She glares at him.

"Up for some sleuthing, Watson?"

"I don't know, Holmes," she replies. "Did a farmer donate to the TARDIS clothes goodwill?"

The Doctor crosses his arms, looking crossed. "This belong to a good friend of mine. Gil Grissom, top crime scene investigator. He'd be crushed if he heard you mock his hat. Come on, we've got crimes to solve and your ghostly friend can stop slacking and carry his weight around here."

She follows him into the TARDIS, shaking her head slightly. "Now he's my ghostly friend?"

He turns around sharply, looking at her with an intensity and anger that almost makes her step back. "Isn't he? Wouldn't you be hurt if I insulted him?"

She thinks, and she feels, and then she nods slowly. "Yeah, he is. He doesn't mean any harm, Doctor."

"I know you don't mean any harm," he says, lifting a hand to her cheek, looking almost grieved. "But I will have my Rose, and if you feel what she feels, you know that."

She doesn't even have time to react before he lets his hand fall again, fall to take her and pull her with to the console, tossing his hat off at the same time. She notices the stack of books piled up around it, and the titles make her smirk.

"Why are you reading crime books if you're the top investigator who hung out with Sherlock Holmes and out-thought Hercule Poirot?"

"Refreshing my memory," he says irritably. "I have a lot to store in there, I'll have you know. It gets a little dusty sometimes. Now look here, I've tapped into the Nattdvalvian Yellow Pages, so to speak. There's quite a few Virgot on this planet and our alien friends are still looking for the right one, all very eager to please, but I reckon your little ghost will know and save us some time."

She looks at the screen, and her finger seems to steer itself to point. "That one."

"Good ghost," the Doctor says absentmindedly, already turning controls and the TARDIS cranks up in response. "Now is this fellow stupid enough to hang around his home still?"

_... Virgot silly Virgot, they all thought he was silly until he held a knife and it hurt then, hurt hurt hurt..._

She steadies herself against the console and tries to remember how to breathe, and it hurts, oh, it hurts.

"Rose?"

"Yes," she manages. "The fellow is stupid enough for that."

"You okay?"

"I just... I remember."

He nods, and he's looking angry again, muttering things under his breath as he works the TARDIS console. She knows he's not angry at her and still it strangely hurts. She can even feel something sting her eyes and she blinks away what might be tears.

The TARDIS jolts to a stop, and the Doctor is halfway out the door before she's even had time to steady herself. She follows a bit more slowly, feeling her heart pound slightly at the thought of who they're looking for. Her killer, or almost her killer, or not quite her killer, or however it goes.

The air is a little cold as she steps out, but the dark sky feels strangely comforting to see again. She can breathe here. Now that she's grown used to the darkness of it, she thinks it rather beautiful.

"Rose!" the Doctor calls, and she sees he's already chatting up a young female, who looks terrified as Rose walks over.

"Rose, this is Meglan. Meglan, this is walker Rose. We're looking for Virgot. Do you know where he is?"

Meglan's eyes widen, and she nods furiously. "He likes to watch the stars and the sun from the outpost north, walker Rose. I... I hope he did not hurt you too bad?"

_... blood blood choking on blood, fire of blood, and it burns and it is cold and he wants the pain to stop and every heartbeat is pain pain pain..._

"I'll live," Rose mutters, and she almost wants to laugh at her own words. "Is he there now?"

"I think so," Meglan whispers. "Did... When you walked, did you breathe Nenna? My mother, she... Did you...?"

"No," she replies, and the girl bursts into tears and runs away, leaving Rose to stare after her helplessly. "Doctor... All these people, they hurt so much."

"I know," he says darkly. "They became so unwilling to let go of their dead that now the dead never let go of them. But I won't have it."

He takes her hand, clutching it, and it strikes her he might know all about being unwilling to let go.

"Remember, Rose... He didn't kill you. Even if it feels like it, try to remember he didn't."

"Okay," she agrees. "Let's find this guy then, super-sleuth."

"Reckon I can get a hat with that?"

"You're such a kid."

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

II 

It takes surprisingly little sleuthing to find outpost north, a tower-like structure at the edge of the town she knows is Nattjern, and she remembers faintly the smell of it in summer, and knows it's spring now. The outposts are where the young gather, to dream of different planets and changing things, always talking of changing things.

The ideas just differ on what to change. Virgot had different ideas, Rose knows. Angry ideas.

"Should we knock, you think?" the Doctor asks, looking at the door as if it'll answer him.

"We're looking for a killer," she reminds him. He shrugs.

"We can still be polite. Holmes was polite. Miss Marple was _all_ polite."

"Have it your way," she says, and knocks. There is a brief moment of silence while the Doctor gives her a wounded look she tries to ignore and not smile at, and then the door opens and she can't breathe at all.

_... dying dying by Virgot why friend Virgot why why..._

"Hello!" the Doctor says cheerfully. "You are quite stupid, aren't you?"

Rose isn't really listening, already moving towards Virgot, a fist balled. Oh, he is hurt, hurt all over, and she hurts and she has to pass it on, has to live, can't die, oh it hurts, hurts, hurts.

"Rose!" the Doctor says sharply, and she feels his hand yank her back and bring her face to face with him. "He didn't kill you! Remember!"

She feels almost slapped for a moment, warm and hot at the same time, and her head pounds with her heart so hard she almost wants to cry. She can feel Virgot looking at her, mouth open in fear at her, and it feels good, and he should feel more of it, oh yes, because he has no idea of what it's like and she knows, oh she knows.

"Rose," the Doctor says again, face so close she thinks he almost mean to kiss her. "Rose, you're Rose! You're not dead! Remember!"

She licks her lips. "Doctor?"

"Yes," he says firmly. "You know me. You listen to me. Well, except when you don't. You're here, with me, breathing."

"Yes," she agrees, and breathes in. "Sorry."

"Not your fault," he says angrily, then seems to check himself. "Hello, Virgot! I'm the Doctor, this is Rose Tyler. We met a while ago, you might remember it. Or not. I was the blurred shape chasing you. Very becoming on me, don't you think?"

"She's..." Virgot swallows, and for the first time, Rose thinks he looks rather small and not dangerous at all. "She's a walker?"

"See, that's the interesting thing," the Doctor goes on. From the tone of his voice, Rose would almost think him all calm, except for the steel grip he still has on her hand. "When you flee the scene of a crime and leave others there, someone people seem to get the idea that they did it. In this case, me and Rose. Rose?"

"What?" 

"This is where your friend is meant to go. Kiss him and let him go."

Virgot looks terrified, but he doesn't move, only stares at her as she moves closer, hand still in the Doctor's. It's a comfort, and she needs it, because she really wants to just flee, run away to where there is no death and nothing hurts.

"I'm sorry," Virgot whispers, but that's not enough. She'll show him sorry, show him hurt, kiss him until he knows death, until he knows who he killed and will never know rest from it. Just a touch of lips, and she kisses her breath into him...

_... and she's Virgot, Virgot hates hates hates and Virgot killed kills and so much hurt in there and no one loves Virgot and there are no hands to hold and Rose oh Rose, how can I live here when I know you..._

She steps back so quickly she almost falls over and the Doctor looks at her with so much expectation it hurts. Virgot staggers slightly, but the relief on his face is a sunrise.

"He doesn't want to go," she whispers. "And I don't want him to go. It's hateful in there, Doctor. So cold and hateful."

"And you're warmer," the Doctor says, and he seems to almost stagger for a moment. "They _knew_! They knew it's not just delivering a message and yet they let you! They know what happens to those who walk, they've _seen_ it."

"The ghosts of Nattdvalve do not possess," she says, and it's her voice and not her knowledge.

"No," he agrees. "They _become_. Everything you are, everything you know, everything you feel. Everything you'll want, he'll want just as much. Everything you fear, he'll fear as much. And he'll bleed into you too. He already is. They're not malicious. They just want to breathe with you."

"Is that so bad?" she whispers, and he closes his eyes briefly, a twitch passing across his face.

"Are you strong enough to carry all your pain, Rose?"

She bites her lip. "I think so."

"Twice over?" he asks, and she wants to reassure him somehow, because he's looking pained and she feels it, so much pain at his pain, suddenly unleashed like flood. "You lot lose your head easily enough over your emotions as they are. And this planet... Oh, they were brave. They walked with ghosts, and thought it wasn't so bad after all. Dare to live through a few deaths, and you could bring back a loved one. A small price to pay..."

He shakes his head with passion. "They had no idea. But they learned. They saw. And then they thought it would make a good sort of justice instead, and let the killers live for the killed. Two life energies. One life experience. So now only the very stupid and very young and the very condemned walk with ghosts and all of them lose their minds. The mind wasn't built for two, not even two of the same."

"I'm sorry," she whispers, and she is. She doesn't want to hurt him, but she can't let go like that. "Don't make me. Please don't make me."

"Oh, Rose," he mutters, pressing his forehead against hers so hard it hurts. "I can't let this happen."

She's not sure if that's a threat or a promise.


	6. Part Six

Watson's Ghost  
by Camilla Sandman

Disclaimer: Just written for my own and other's amusement, BBC. Please not be suing me.

Author's Note: Written for an anon request in my LJ. Thanks to Saz for beta-ing and being awesome. Love ya, darling.

II

**An Ending: Wherein Virgot dies**

Endings, it is known, come in many ways. Unsatisfactory, where the beginning and the ending seem not connected at all. Sudden, where the unexpected dominates. Resolved, where the ending seems to tie it all together. And sometimes, an end is just where the story comes to a halt.

Virgot's end was this. Stranger Doctor and walker Rose took him to the Council of Justice, and words of a ghost found him guilty of murder. He was imprisoned, and for a while he thought himself lucky.

He never saw walker Rose again, only heard the whispers of what she and her stranger had done. He was never forced to face his victims. He convinced himself he felt no regret and so he had none. He never walked with ghosts.

He still knew no peace, and never understood why. Virgot's end was none.

He just died and that was that.

II

**Part Six: Wherein the Doctor rages, a right is claimed, pacing is conducted, Rose loves twice over, the Doctor demonstrates a point and the importance of giving what wanted is discovered**

Rose has seen the Doctor angry many times by now, and she's learned the nuances of it - anger because it helps him think, anger covering for fear, anger to make others afraid, anger tinged with disgust, anger at helplessness, and downright rage.

This she thinks is rather a combination of the last two.

"And Rose, Rose is innocent and because you assumed guilt, she's got a ghost in her head!" the Doctor rages, and the five aliens that make up the Council of Justice look more than a tad uncomfortable. They have for the fifteen minutes the Doctor has been going off on them, ever since Virgot was taken away and she felt like she could breathe again. "You call this justice? It's insanity!"

"Honoured Doctor..." one of the female members tries, and the Doctor turns to face her so sharply even Rose jumps a little.

"Where's the honour in _this_? Where's the justice? At what price? Life for the dead at whatever the cost of the living?"

"We only let the willing walk..."

"The ones who feel they have no other choice! The stupid! The young! The desperate! How willing was Rose? You knew she had no idea, and you let her!"

"She did insist," the female says quietly. "She did claim the will to go in your stead, and the ghost knew her name."

The Doctor exhales, and for a moment, she thinks she can see guilt in him and she wants to fling herself into his arms and insist it wasn't his fault. It was always hers. Doubly so.

"I know," he says shortly. "But this has gone far enough. You're all suffering. You're all afraid. The number of ghosts is growing, and you're beginning to think about what would happen if they would roam free, aren't you?"

"The winds..."

"Winds change. Everything changes. Everything dies." He looks at Rose, and she shivers at the look in his eyes. All knowledge and all grief, and she wants to comfort him, needs to comfort him. "You had no right to do this to Rose. You have no right to do it to anybody, and I'll make sure of it."

"You?" he who Rose knows is Genna's father says. "And you have the right to stop it?"

The Doctor smiles, and it's a terrifying smile. "I'm claiming that right. Come, Rose."

He strides out, and she hesitates for a moment.

"Genna still needs to know her future would've been great," she rushes out, and leaves the way the Doctor went, feeling the gazes following her. So much fear, she knows, and shame too. So little wisdom, and the people of Nattdvalve shuns their own leaders for it. She would pity them, but she doesn't quite feel like it.

She feels like comforting the Doctor, so she decides to.

She finds him in the hallway where he's parked the TARDIS, pacing around it, running a hand through his hair and looking intent. 

"Rose," he says absentmindedly. "Ghosts, ghosts... Why couldn't they be mummies? I know mummies. Mummies are _easy_. Maigret and I solved mummy mysteries in good time to hit the local cafés to have a drink. I tell you, that man liked a good one. His wife too. She was delightful."

"She would be," Rose mutters.

"But ghosts!" he goes on. "Why did they have to be ghosts? I hate ghosts."

She looks at him, and he finally seem to notice she's actually there.

"Apart from yours, of course," he amends. "Delightful ghost. Very helpful. Charming, in fact."

"You just don't want it to hang out with me?" she jokes a little, and he looks pained. "Maybe it doesn't have to be like all the other people. They didn't have a Doctor, after all."

"I can't fix everything, Rose," he objects, leaning against the TARDIS wall. She leans against him.

"Let me fix a few things then?" she suggests, running a finger down the lines of his suit. "I don't want you to feel like you're losing me. I'm here."

"Rose... Rose, don't," he says, but it's a plea without strength. He looks tired and energized and angry and sad all at once, and he's looking at her with so much of everything else he feels too she can't not do this.

"You said yourself the ghosts only mirror what is. You explained it to me," she says softly, watching his Adam's apple move as he swallows. "So this is all me."

She kisses him. He's so still he might as well be a statue, but his lips are soft and she explores the feel and texture of them. A little pressure there and he inhales a little, a little pleasure there and she can feel his breath catch in his throat. She dares a little more, tongue brushing against tongue, and his body feels tense when she sneaks a hand inside his jacket. Always holding back. Always the one light years ahead of everyone else, and sometimes she resents him a little for that.

"Rose..." he warns.

"What?" she mutters, kissing the lines of his jaw, moving down his neck. "Haven't all your little Watsons tried this over the years?"

He doesn't answer, and she resents that a little too. She resents many things, and she kisses him angrily this time, biting down on his bottom lip, clutching at his shirt, pressing against the length of him. He doesn't stop her, and doesn't help her, and she wonders what he's thinking and hiding from her in his mind.

"Your head," he whispers, and finally he does something, lifting his fingers to touch her temple, almost reverently. "It's going to kill you."

"I saw death," she replies, taking his fingers in her hand, pressing it to her lips. "What's wrong with living a little?"

"It's not a little. It's too much," he says, watching her lips as she draws one of his fingers into her mouth. "You're going to burn up with everything you feel."

"Everything I feel," she echoes, kissing his knuckles now. You know how I feel. I lo-"

"No!" he says fiercely, shaking his head and looking angry, so angry. "You don't _dare_ say that with that thing still in your head. Don't you dare. Don't you dare, Rose."

"But I do," she protests, and he kisses her hard, cutting off her words. She only half feels him open the TARDIS and yank her inside with him, slamming the door shut and then pressing her against it, never breaking the kiss.

"Don't," he says, his lips sliding against hers. "Don't say that."

She strains a little against him, cloth rubbing against cloth, and he stills hers with his hands on her hips.

"Don't do that," he says, and she groans in frustration. Instead he moves against her, and she wants clothes gone and skin only, but when she fumbles with the buttons on his jacket, he grabs both her hands with one of his and holds them over her head.

"Don't do that," he says again, and he kisses her neck, and she strains against him, wants to touch him, but he's denying her.

"You want this," he says softly, his tongue drawing small circles on her earlobe.

"Yes," she whispers.

"But not like this."

"No."

"Not like it's not really your show and you're not fully a partner and everything's happening on someone else's premise?"

"No."

"Then you know how _I_ feel," he says intensely, and steps back, letting go of her. "How you'll feel after. Not like this, Rose."

She nods, very slowly, her skin still tingling. He starts pacing again, back and forth, back and forth, and she watches him, trying to even her breathing and calm what seems to be raging in her mind.

"Ghosts, ghosts, ghosts..." he mutters. "Why couldn't they have a plague of particularly insistent mice? I'd just set up a brilliant cheese maker, constructed by your brilliant truly, and problem solved. Everyone gets what they want."

"Too bad you can't just give ghosts what they want," she says, and he stops so suddenly he seems to almost trip. He stares at her for a long moment, and then slowly, he starts to grin, and just never stops, beaming at her.

"What they want... What ghosts always want! Of course! Rose Tyler, you're brilliant, you are!"

He sweeps her up in a hug, and she clings to him, feeling a bit dizzy as he spins her around.

"And your little ghostly friend too! Everyone's brilliant and I'm most brilliant of all!"

"Shut up," she laughs, but he just beams at her, finally putting her down, both breathing a little unevenly. "What are you going to do?"

He winks at her, and it's all delight and a little madness and she's a little bit afraid and all elated.

"Oh, Rose... I'm going to make everyone - everyone! - remember."


	7. Part Seven

Watson's Ghost  
by Camilla Sandman

Disclaimer: Just written for my own and other's amusement, BBC. Please not be suing me.

Author's Note: Written for an anon request in my LJ. Thanks to Saz for beta-ing and being awesome. Love ya, darling.

II

**A Ghost's Trap: Wherein knowledge haunts**

Strangers, it is known, came to Nattdvalve long ago. They came, and they saw, and they taught those already there much, but not everything, for knowledge is ever power and only the foolish render themselves powerless. They taught about death, and some about life, and the people of Nattdvalve craved ever more, until the strangers would not give, and there was war. The strangers had knowledge, but they had not the numbers, and they died. Some fled and hid in the mountains, but time battled them too, and one by one they all exhaled their last breath.

Giergny was the last of Nattdvalve's strangers. With him, knowledge would die. He couldn't let that happen.

Giergny died and didn't die still, breathing as ghost where the winds go to die. He never forgets, but no one else dares to remember and he is alone.

Knowledge didn't die. Knowledge doesn't live. Knowledge just haunts.

He haunts with it.

II

**Part Seven: Wherein an idea of a home is explained, a plan has many catches, striking for tea-breaks is essential, the peculiar occurs, the TARDIS is of assistance and the Doctor makes a promise**

There is one thing having a ghost in your head is good for, Rose discovers, and that's scaring people enough to have them give you exactly what you want when you ask for it. Which is why she's carefully cradling a sphere of some sort of reflective metal in her hands, and being very careful not to drop it. She wonders what it is, briefly, but then Berho whispers, and she knows it's the Nattdvalvian equivalent of a computer disc, storing knowledge. Only this is blank, and she ponders.

The Doctor is nowhere to be seen as she enters the TARDIS, but he's everywhere to be heard, clonking and banging and muttering, and she eventually spots him deep under the TARDIS console, ripping into it, apologising as he goes.

She's going to have to ask him about him and the TARDIS one of these days, she reflects.

"You sound like Mickey when he used to tamper with his favourite car," she calls down, and he gives her a pointed look. "Just saying."

"Did you get it?"

"Got it," she replies, holding out her prize. It glitters vaguely in the light, not feeling much heavier than a football, and about the size of it too. "I didn't even have to say 'please'."

"I hope you remembered to say 'thank you', Miss Manners," he replies, climbing up, resting his elbows on the grille. "What do you think? A nice home for a million ghosts?"

"This?"

"Mmmm." He takes the sphere from her, putting his glasses on and staring at it intently. "A little help from the TARDIS, and I can make this live. Sort of. The ghosts don't have to die, the living don't have to go mad with ghosts in their heads and still get those last parting messages, and maybe the ghosts will be content enough to let go after a while. Perfect."

"It is," she agrees. "So what's the catch?"

"Catch_es_," he corrects. "Well, I could possibly blow up the TARDIS doing this and we'll either be killed or trapped here forever. Going to need a lot of power and I'll have to hook us up to the planet power supply, so they might decide to execute us for power nicking and general nuisance after all. I might calibrate it wrong and every living thing. And if I succeed in all this, the ghosts might still not be keen on moving. They might potentially make a fuss." 

"Potentially?" she echoes. "So basically, this plan of yours is volatile, dangerous, prone to fuck-ups and could end in gruesome death for all involved?"

"Strictly speaking - yeah, pretty much."

"Sounds like every other plan you've had."

They grin at each other, and he chucks the sphere back to her, disappearing back under the console, sonic screwdriver in hand. She watches him rummage around for a few moments, still muttering apologies.

This is her Doctor, she thinks, and her mind hums with it.

He notices her gaze and looks up at her, wires around his neck, devices she has no idea what are even meant to do scattered around his feet and so much mischief and determination in his eyes. Affection too, because he can never hide that. Or maybe he just never tries.

"Ready, Rose Tyler?"

"For what?"

He grins. "Exactly!"

She wonders if Watson thought Holmes a little mad sometimes too.

II

There are many ways to break into a power station, but Rose rather thinks this one is new - start up the first Nattdvalve union ever, and encourage strike action. With success, no less, but then very few can resist the Doctor in full-on gob mode. Her included, of course.

"If what my mum told me about her, Thatcher would've just loved you," she remarks, peering out the window and seeing the banners and slogans down at the gate. She's rather amused to see they've made some with suggested slogans of hers. She does wonder if they even know what tea-breaks are, though, now that they're willing to strike to get it.

"She did!" he protests from under a console, ripping into wires with no apology this time, just pure glee. Others wires from the TARDIS are being attached, and he does look a bit like a kid playing with Lego and using the parts for all the things they were never intended for. "Give me that Aragan modifier - that's the thing with the discs that look vaguely like the Sydney Opera House."

"I thought you said she tossed you out of 10 Downing Street that one time?" she asks, handing over the requested item.

"Tough love."

"The Universe sure gives you a lot of it," she reflects, and then feels a moment of bang at it, because it's true. She looks down at him, and he gives her a small smile that tells her he knows too, and somehow, he still manages to love the Universe right back. It almost makes her want to...

"Rose, stop mentally undressing me," he interrupts. "_Again_. Hand me that Knarv tool - the thing with the lump that looks vaguely like the Eiffel tower on a bad day."

"Sorry," she replies, fiddling through the ever-growing pile of stuff that looks vaguely like something or another. "How come no ghost stories I know mention the raging hormones part?"

"Would mean admitting you had them in the first place, since the ghost's just mirroring what is," he says, gripping the Knarv tool and ramming it into something, causing a shower of sparks. "Victorian sensibilities."

"You're right, Queen Victoria would not be amused at that," she quips, and he groans. "Let me guess, now you want the thing that looks vaguely like Brandenburger Tor?"

"No," he says, sliding out. "Now I want your hand, and your shush, and we're going to duck behind that wall and hope I'm not blowing up the entire planet."

She takes his hand, and has time to briefly hope he doesn't indeed, this planet is a nice home for her, or Berho rather, and then she and the Doctor are ducking behind a wall, the Doctor pressing her between him and the wall. She would give him a look for that, but his body is warm, he always does it, and potential last words shouldn't be that inane.

"Fingers crossed," she says, and decides that is just as inane, really.

"Toes crossed," the Doctor replies, and sticks his sonic screwdriver around the corner, aiming in the general direction of the console he's just tinkered with. "Here goes."

He presses the button and the sonic screwdriver buzzes.

Nothing happens.

"Huh," he says, "that was pecul-"

The room _warbles_ somehow, and her ears feel like they might explode, and then she's flying, and the Doctor is holding her and everything is very, very bright. She feels the impact of landing only vaguely, mostly because her landing is cushioned by a Time Lord body. She can hear him groan, or maybe it's her, or maybe it's the building, because everything seems very loud.

The sudden silence is almost deafening, and she twists to face the Doctor underneath her, and for a heartbreaking moment she thinks he's hurt or worse, his eyes closed and lips not moving. She wants to howl, and then he does open his eyes, and looks a little stunned.

"Huh," he says again. "That was peculiar."

She laughs in relief, and he just laughs at her laugh, and they help each other up, surveying the damage. Several of the walls seem to suddenly have become entries in a modern art exhibition, having twisted into weird shapes. Almost all the blinking lights in the room have gone out, and this is one control room that might never recover, she reflects.

But the TARDIS stands unharmed in the centre, and she can almost feel the power in it, a sort of electric tingle that makes her hair stand on end.

"Oh yes," the Doctor says, grinning madly. "Oh _yes_. I've just blacked out the entire planet, but look at that! Look at that, Rose! Isn't she beautiful?"

"She's... Buzzing?"

"Buzzing with energy!" he says proudly, and sounds like a proud father. "Oh, would you look at that! She's holding it! For now, at least. She'll probably wipe us all out if we don't use it up fast. Fortunately, that's just what I have in mind."

"Sounds great!" she says cheerfully. "Where are we going?"

"Take a little stroll with ghosts," he says, and her heart falls.

_...cold where the winds die, so cold, and don't want to go back, don't go back..._

"We're going back there?" she asks, and he nods.

"Great," she repeats, but it sounds hollow even to her own ears, and he steps closer to her, the warmth of him comforting.

"Are you brave, Rose?" he asks, and he's looking at her with so much trust it almost hurts.

She thinks of a million ghosts needing help, and how pale fear seems in comparison. "Yes."

"It's going to hurt. I'm sorry. I'll make it better after."

She nods, accepting it as a promise. "What am I going to do?"

"You're going to extend an invitation."


	8. Part Eight

Watson's Ghost  
by Camilla Sandman

Disclaimer: Just written for my own and other's amusement, BBC. Please not be suing me.

Author's Note: Written for an anon request in my LJ. Thanks to Saz for beta-ing and being awesome. Love ya, darling.

II

**A Dirge: Wherein the dead sing**

Songs, it is known, need not be for only one purpose, and all the shapes they come in reflect this. There are songs for life, love, joy, melancholy, friendship found and friendship lost, the passing of seasons, the passing of time, the passing of life.

The dead sing a dirge. Sometimes, when the winds are quiet, even the living of Nattdvalve would hear it. The living stay inside on such days. The dead sing on.

No one knows who they sing for, but the living fear it's them.

II

**Part Eight: Wherein a price is reduced, possible last words are exchanged, Berho is of use, a price is paid, a breath is returned and what Watson didn't do to Holmes is explored**

Rose can feel it the moment the TARDIS lands - like a hum in her mind, the faint memories of all the ghosts she breathed for a moment awakening. They're still there, where the winds die and they don't, clinging on, and their memories hurt and she hurts too.

"Not even ghosts can come through those doors unless I let them," the Doctor says, and she thinks that's meant as a comfort. It just doesn't feel like one.

She still offers him a faint smile, so she can pretend not to be afraid, and he can pretend he believes her pretending.

"How's your ghostly friend dong?"

"Much like I am?"

He shakes his head a little. "Stupid question. Does he hear his ghost friends?"

_...calling and screaming and pleading and howling and remembering..._

"Yes," she says definitely, nodding too. "I hear them too, like a distant hum."

He sighs, and then he kicks the console with sudden rage. "They had to right to make you do that. He's got no right to your life! And now I have to use that, and they had no right to make me do that. No right!"

"Doctor?"

He exhales slowly, and she feels herself on the sudden end of a crushing hug as he sweeps her up, nearly driving all the breath from her body. She clings a little to him, daring even to kiss the pulse in his neck, and he doesn't seem to mind this time.

"I wish there was another way," he says softly. "But he's in you, and I need him."

"He likes you," she offers, and he sighs again, letting go of her.

"You like me," he corrects. "And I have to use it. Berho, you understand what I'm going to do, and you understand why. The living are never going to come to you. Not enough of them. Not at that price. So I'm going to reduce it."

He hands Rose the sphere, and she feels almost dizzy as she clutches it.

"Open the doors, step back, don't let go of this and call the ghosts. Bring them here. They're desperate. They'll come."

"And you?"

He smiles. "I'll be holding my breath, waiting for the right moment."

"Famous last words," she says weakly, and manages to take one step towards the door before he halts her with a hand on her arm. He looks at her, and she can't read his face at all.

"Oh, hell," he says, and kisses her forehead so quickly she barely has time to even register it. "Possible last words should always be none."

"Yeah," she agrees, and kisses him on the lips. He leans into it for a moment, and then he nudges her towards the door, just the tiniest hint of mischief in her eyes. And it's that, more than anything else, that makes her think things might all turn out okay after all. They'll have to be.

There's some famous last words, she thinks, and steps up to the door. It seems to almost loom, menacing for all the things waiting beyond it. She really, really doesn't want to do this, but the Doctor has asked her to, and that'll have to be good enough.

Perhaps she's still trying to prove herself to him after all.

She opens the door and steps back.

She half expects a flood, but there is just silence, and cold, and then Berho is humming in her mind, singing with her mind. It is strange and disconcerting and beautiful all at once, a dirge for the dead. And they're coming, joining in, and she can feel tears on her cheek, seeming to burn as they fall.

So many dead. So much they have to say.

So much hurt.

She staggers a bit as the TARDIS jolts and powers, powers, singing some ancient song that she still feels familiar, and the song becomes a wind as the Doctor does _something_. The sphere in her hands is pulsating, almost like a heart, and her heart beats with it. For a moment, her mind feels pulled in two direction, almost torn open, but then she holds her breath and the sensation fades. 

_...Rose oh Rose..._

The wind's everywhere and she has to close her eyes, seconds feeling like eternity while she feels almost as if she's stuck in a maelstrom, or she is the maelstrom, and everything's swirling around her.

The moment everything goes still she falls to her knees, gasping. Her head pounds so much it's all she can be aware of at first, until she feels hands on her head, rubbing her temples gently.

"I'm sorry," the Doctor says, and she nods, still keeping her eyes closed. She can feel the sphere she is still clutching, and it's still pulsating. It feels alive, and when she opens her eyes to look, a light glimmers and fades in sync with the beats.

"They're all in there?" she asks, awed.

"They're all in there," he agrees. "There's just one ghost missing."

She can feel him look at her, and the will of him hurts.

"Don't make me," she whispers, hardly daring to meet his eyes.

"I have to," he says, lifting her head to meet his eyes. "Berho, your time's over. Either go in there, or let go of life. You know I'll take you out myself if I have to, and you don't want to live in my mind. It's old and dark and dusty and there's no hiding from death. You know how Rose feels. You know Rose would do it for me. You're her. Now let go."

She wants to hate him for being so manipulative, but she can't, not when she sees the pain and love in his face too. She can't, and Berho can't.

She breathes...

_and she's Berho, exhaling, dying, afraid so afraid, but relieved too, the pain ends, the fear does not, oh Rose, Rose of my breath, is this it..._

...and she can't breathe, she's dying, and there's a gaping hole in her mind and this is how death must feel like, this is death...

"Rose?" he asks, a touch of panic in his voice. She can't comfort him, can't comfort herself, feeling her grip on the sphere loosen, and he catches it, setting it aside carefully, and his face is so close, so close.

"This is what you were," he says, and he's kissing her, breathing into her, and she remembers, remembers what her own breath felt like and her own mind was and her own heartbeats sounded like and Rose, she remembers Rose, she is Rose. And he's smiling against her lips, and she can feel him too, just a flicker of him, and she takes it. She takes everything, kissing him and ignoring his surprise, drawing her tongue across his lips, and then his teeth, feeling the warmth of his mouth.

Yes. This is what she is. 

"Rose," he murmurs, breathlessly, and she kisses him to silence, because this is her mind made up. The floor is hard against her knees, and his too she imagines, but she doesn't want to move, not when she for once almost feels as he's within her grasp.

"I'm pretty sure Watson never did this to Holmes," he whispers, brushing her hair from her face, looking at her with something like resignation and joy too.

"He should've," she says, placing a hand on his chest. 

He laughs, and she laughs, and then she's crying, and he's brushing away her tears, kissing her eyelids and her cheeks. His lips are warm against her skin, and she's cold, and maybe it's just comfort and maybe it's just not.

"He became a part of you, so a part of you died. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he whispers, drawing his fingers across her temples again, and down, tracing the sides of her neck.

"You had a part of me."

"Yes. To keep safe. My mind's full of space," he jokes, and she wonders if he's given it all back, or if he still keeps a part, just like he'll always keep a part of her even when she leaves or he leaves her.

There'll be a when, she's learned, but that is not today.

Today is this, and she takes his hand and he follows her as she stands up, and tilts his head as she kisses him, and edges the sides of her top up as she unbuttons his jacket, and draws patterns of the base of her neck as she draws her fingers through his hair, and kisses her as she tilts her head.

Somewhere along the way he becomes a little less gentle, and she too, practically dragging him by his tie into the TARDIS until she finds a soft surface, not even caring what it is. He doesn't seem to either, following her down as she falls back on it, remembering to kick her shoes off.

"Good manners," he says, and she wonders not for the first time why he even cares about manners since he disregards them freely in favour of being rude often enough. Maybe he has a sordid past as a gentleman.

Maybe he just has a sordid past, she considers, feeling his tongue on her skin and his hands tracing the lines of her legs all the way to her toes and then back again, making her cheeks feel flushed. Even more so when he helps her wriggle out of her jeans and then repeats the procedure.

She fumbles more with his clothes, so many buttons and so little patience, but finally there is just skin and she can feel the warmth of it against her palm. He looks and feels human enough, especially in some ways as she lets her hand dip low. She giggles a little, and even more so when he hugs her to him.

"Rose," he says, his hair tickling her skin and he rests his head on her stomach and looks up at her. "Don't get a ghost ever again."

"Promise," she says, but she can't help but feel grief, feel not quite whole, and he seems to know, lifting his head to kiss her as he sinks into her and then at least her body doesn't feel alone. She fumbles a bit before she matches his rhythm, but he doesn't stop kissing her, and somehow that feels more intimate than everything else.

He lifts her up a little, and she digs her fingernails into his back, breathing, breathing, so much breath and not enough.

"Hello," he says, and she closes her eyes to everything and then, then it is enough.

II

"Rose?"

"Mmmm?"

"I think we just shagged on Nero Wolfe's office carpet."


	9. Part Nine

Watson's Ghost  
by Camilla Sandman

Disclaimer: Just written for my own and other's amusement, BBC. Please not be suing me.

Author's Note: Written for an anon request in my LJ. Thanks to Saz for beta-ing and being awesome. Love ya, darling.

II

**Part Nine: Wherein a crowd is tough, Nattdvalve is given a challenge, Berho gets a memorial of sorts, a human affinity is reinforced, a relationship remains unnamed and certain things do not change at all**

Rose isn't surprised to find a welcoming committee in her room as she exists the TARDIS, mostly because the Doctor told them they were there as soon as the TARDIS materialised. She puts on her best fake-surprise face still, just in case they were hoping for one.

She's feeling generous, after all.

"Hello! Had a feeling I would find you lot here," the Doctor says cheerfully, clearly not bothering with the fake surprise. "Sorry about the blackout. Hope you didn't miss your favourite football match on telly or some such, but matters of planetary well-being were rather pressing. No need to execute us, I assure you."

He pauses, but no one else says anything, and the silence stretches on a bit.

"That's where they usually assure me they weren't really planning on it," he mutters to Rose, who supresses a smile. "Right, you're probably wondering what I nicked all your power for, and you're thinking it's something brilliant, am I right?"

Again, the silence stretches on.

"Seems you're wrong," Rose whispers, and he gives her a wounded look.

"I am not wrong, this is just a tough crowd," he corrects. "No matter. I have solved your ghost problems."

They stare at him, a few muttering some very rude words Rose feels almost insulted at. Granted, she thinks the Doctor has lost his marbles now and then too, but she has a right to think that. She's claimed that right, and the Doctor gives her a grin, as if he knows.

"Very tough crowd. Now, my lovely assistant..." He catches Rose's glance and quickly amends himself. "My lovely Watson will show you how."

She reaches back into the TARDIS, and ever so careful she lifts the sphere out. It is still beating steadily and surely, and when she rests her palm on the surface, she can almost hear the whispers.

"A little of your technology, a little of mine," the Doctor says, beaming. "I've charged it pretty well. You're a clever lot, you'll find some way to keep it alive and communicate with those inside. I could do it for you, but I'm not going to. You need a good challenge."

"How...?" one of the aliens ask, staring so intently Rose thinks it almost looks greedy.

"Brilliance. Now, as nice as it's been being accused of murder here, Rose and I rather have to hop along. Rose, give them their dead, and let's hop."

"Hopping along right behind you, Doctor," she says, and he vanishes inside. She places the sphere carefully in the nearest alien's arms, and he stares at her, eyes so very dark.

"Walker Rose, what...? How did...?"

"Just Rose now," she says softly. "Rose'll do. Take care of them. You owe them that."

And with that, she walks away, feeling just the briefest moment of pride. Berho desired change for his home, she remembers. Maybe now there'll be some.

Maybe he would've thought that the best memorial there is.

II

"Doctor?"

"Mmmm?"

She turns over on her side to look at him bathed in sun - they needed some serious sun after everything, she had insisted, and he had eventually agreed - and he's smiling distantly, eyes closed, lips warm from sun. She's going to kiss him later, but right now, it feels good to have time to wait too.

"Would you really have taken a ghost?"

"What's one more?" he says lightly, but all darkness underneath.

"For me, though?"

He shifts slightly. "Why do humans always ask questions they know the answer to?"

"Maybe because we like to hear them aloud still."

"The human affinity for stating the obvious," he says affectionately, a light breeze ruffling his hair. "Yeah. For you. And don't you start asking me if Holmes would've done that for Watson, or if Poirot had a partner he also occasionally shagged or if Miss Marple ever felt alone."

She smiles, and he cracks one eye open, regarding her.

"You all right?"

"I think I will be," she answers honestly. "Still feels like I've lost something."

"It'll get better."

He would know, she thinks.

He flips over on his side as well, smiling at her. "Not everyone gets their own ghost story, Rose Tyler. Or live to hear it told and retold and changed and written down and finally ripped off by a bad big budget movie. They probably made one. We could go see."

She wrinkles her nose. "I think I've had enough ghosts for a while."

"Yeah, me too," he agrees readily. "Might try for life. Live a little. Mummies though, mummies you never get enough of."

She does kiss him then, and he still hesitates a little before kissing her back, and she does wonder if he is merely giving her what she wants and this is not about what he wants at all, but she can live on the hope that he wants it a little too. She knows there's a million unresolved issues still, and their relationship has changed from one unnamed thing to another, but that's all right. Life is change.

"Doctor?"

"Mmmm?"

"Are you sure parking the TARDIS on the Opera House to catch some tan was such a bright idea after all?"

"Why?"

"Because there are quite a lot of police down there and they're not looking particularly pleased."

He glances over her shoulder. "Oh! That's the Sydney Water Police. Delightful people. I helped them solve this mystery once..."

Life is change, she decides, but certain things remain the same still.

II

**Epilogue: Wherein endings depend**

A story, it is known, has a beginning and an end. Both may depend upon the teller. A story may have a happy ending if you end it at a certain time, and the same story may have an unhappy one if you end it at another. Everything depends.

Rose and the Doctor travelled on. Some things changed. Some did not. Maybe they were happy. It depends.

Nattdvalve went on. The people were still greedy for knowledge, and the living still died, but now and then someone brave would listen to a ghost, and see what might be better. Maybe they learned a lesson. It depends.

The ghosts whispered on. Important messages sometimes, personal messages sometimes, and often both. But even whispers can die, and ghosts let go.

Maybe that's where it ends. Maybe not.

It depends.

FIN


End file.
